Archive of Our Own ^beta

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“So what you’re saying is you’re mad about the house-” Jack held up his hands and gave his best attempt at an understanding nod. “Y’know I get it, I do, but come on, we’ve fixed it before, we can fix it again, it’s not that big a deal and-”

“This isn’t about the house Jack.” The boy’s father sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is about your behavior, now your interest in robotics was all well and good, but this little game of yours has got to stop.” 

    “What game?” Jack cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out where his father was going with all of this, but before he could do so his mother joined in.

    “This conquest silliness sweetheart, whatever it is that you do when you're running around with your little friends, things get broken, and do you know who has to pay for it all?”

    “Yeah! Me!” He crossed his arms defensively, eyes locking on his mother’s in defiance. 

    “We do Jack.” She continued, her voice nothing but exasperated, “Financially and socially. People talk about these things you know.”

    “They SHOULD talk!” Jack threw his arms up, raising his voice, “EVERYONE should talk because EVERYONE should know, I’m gonna rule the WHOLE world and maybe they should all see it coming! Someday I’m-

 “That’s enough.” His father brought a fist down on the table between them, not hard, but firmly enough to demand recognition, “Enough games, enough delusions of grandeur, enough cavorting about with those friends of yours and making a mess of things! How do you think that makes your mother and I look? Think of what we have to uphold- this decision wasn’t easy for us to make, it certainly won’t be a fun conversation, but your track record hasn’t left us with any other choice.”

“What your father is trying to say-” His mother interjected, laying a gentle hand on her husband’s arm, “-Is that this is what’s going to be best for you .”

“WHAT’S going to be best for me!?” His voice wavered, but he stood his ground, crossing his arms tightly in defense, “Boarding school? A curfew? An allowance cut? A SHRINK!? How is ANY of that what’s best for ME!?” 

“One of these days Jack,” His father’s voice grew colder as he spoke, “You’re going to hurt yourself- or someone else. We don’t plan on cleaning up the mess, especially when it’s easier to prevent it in the first place. Now, this has gone on long enough, you’re almost an adult and here you are still acting like a petulant child.” 

“I am NOT!” Jack’s voice cracked, his hands balling up into fists. “I’m not a little kid, and I don’t need some overblown daycare taking all my toys away!- SUPPLIES!” he was quick to correct himself, “SUPPLIES AND ROBOTS AND WEAPONS AND PLANS TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!” He didn’t even realize he was standing until he heard his chair fall to the floor behind him, knocked over by the force of how fast he’d jumped to his feet. Too fast, he placed a hand on the table to steady himself as the floating spots settled back into the corners of his vision.
“Look just-” he hesitated a moment, chewing at the inside of his cheek and trying to think of anything else he could say to talk his way out of this he’d done it plenty of times right? “I’ll keep the collateral damage to a minimum ok? Maybe set up some decent security so those Xiaolin losers will stop trying to bring the fight into my house all the time…” Both of his parents looked unconvinced. “Er- Our house…” His father still wore a skeptical grimace. “Yyyyour… house?” He tried again, this time with what he hoped was a placating smile. It looked more like an unfortunate bout of indigestion. “Just one more chance, ok?”

There was a loaded moment of silence while his parents looked at each other, then back to him. Every second that passed made it that much harder to breathe. He wanted to sit back down but that would mean picking the chair up off the floor and that would mean turning away and that would mean giving up just like he always did but he couldn’t give up on this.

“Jackie,” Finally- finally his mother spoke, and it was that tone, that beautiful tone of “let’s go out for dinner tonight, wherever you want.” and “let’s look at homeschooling options together ok?” that wonderful, perfect, lifesaving tone of voice that meant things would be ok! And then she finished talking.

“We don’t want this to happen the hard way, but we know Saint Rockwells can help you more than we can. Just give it a try alright? Come out to the car with us and you won’t have to deal with any of the drama that comes with their escorts. Please sweetheart, for me, just try?”

Jack couldn’t hear her last statement, from the moment she’d said “their escorts” he’d been caught between screaming and throwing up. Escorts? Saint Rockwell Escorts? He wasn’t an idiot, thank you, he knew perfectly well that that just meant “cops with more child-friendly uniforms and a paycheck from a private institution instead of the government” and no, no thank you, he would not be dealing with them today or any other day or ever. That settled that then, according to his folks his options were “get in our car and go” or “get in our car and go” which, of course, made the choice an obvious one.

He’d taken off for the back door before either of his parents could so much as stand up. 

He had to move fast, for all he knew the house could be surrounded, and from this side of the first floor he couldn’t possibly make it downstairs to pick up any heavy equipment for the road. He had to get out and get out fast. He had to think. Think. He managed to do enough thinking to grab his shoes and his heli-pack before letting the door slam shut behind him and running for it. Any other thinking could come later, what mattered now was not getting dragged off to a stiff grey prison-school to get sedatived and therapized and other equally horrible things that they did to other crazy teenagers. No not other crazy teenagers, just crazy teenagers, one of which he was not. Not at all, if anything he was gifted damnit! Why was everyone too stupid to see that? Jack Spicer was clearly the smartest mind of his generation and-

“OW- OWWWOWOWSSshit thathurtsalot!” -and he had just tripped over a large rock and narrowly managed to avoid landing directly on his face.

Ok. Time to stop geniusing and running at the same time. Or at least time to put on shoes. After sitting himself down on the offending rock that had just attacked him entirely unprovoked, Jack finally managed to take in his surroundings. He was somewhere in the forest surrounding his home, but too far in to identify where, maybe far enough to be over the property line, though that was doubtful. No one seemed to be chasing him on foot, which was good, he wouldn’t be running again any time soon if his dying lungs and sore legs had anything to say about it. He pulled on his shoes and sucked in a few more deep breaths before standing back up and strapping his heli-pack around his chest a little too tightly- just to keep his heart from beating out of his chest and his lungs from cracking apart his ribcage. 

Flying would beat running as a means of transportation anyway, he let his body go slack into the harness as it lifted him off the ground, he’d just need to stay low enough that they wouldn’t be able to spot him over the treeline for awhile. This was just another bump in the road. A big bump. Maybe a hurdle- if cars could jump hurdles- No that wasn’t a thing most cars could do. Could his car do that? Did it still count as a car? Car seemed a little demeaning as a term for it actually… This important logistics question stopped being important as he nearly smashed directly into a tree. Right. Focusing. 

He needed to go somewhere, food water and shelter were things human beings needed in order to survive. Some form of mental stimulation was also most likely a crucial part of not dying, pens or tools or music at least and oh son of a bitch his mp3 player was sitting on his desk in his room in his house and this was probably up there in the top 5 worst days of his life. 

Priorities. Survival. Food water shelter and something- anything- to do. Jack could think of two separate places that could meet those criteria, and considering one of them was far too unnervingly scary to even think about setting foot in for the time being, groveling for forgiveness at the gaping mouth of Chase’s citadel looked like his best option.

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Said opening stretching over him was almost enough to make Jack reconsider. Almost. The dark shadows cast by the stalactites always looked a little too much like teeth for his personal comfort, but maybe it was just hitting harder because he hadn’t been here in so long. Maybe it was also the memory of just how many large cats who also happened to have large teeth lived inside. Or maybe it was because the structure was clearly sculpted to look like a giant mouth, that was probably the strongest factor. That didn’t mean he had to like it. Jack shuddered. It’d be fine. There was no memorable reason for Chase to be mad at him right now, everything would be just fine.

“Uh- ChAse?” Jack’s voice cracked hard as he called out, good, great start, perfect. “Aaaanybody home?” Silence. Maybe nobody was home. That was as much a relief as it was a problem, he couldn’t exactly go home and come back later. Jack took a tentative step forward. Ok, plan B. It wasn’t like he couldn’t break in, he could break into anywhere that was break-into-able. Which was everywhere. Because he could break into it. He was not lying to himself or stalling for time, there was no war in-

-The low crunch of rock sliding against rock was startling enough to send him reeling back, throwing his hands up in front of his face, it’d been a long enough day without adding “had face eaten” to the list of highlights. After a brief moment of not having his face eaten, Jack slowly risked opening his eyes. He was greeted with the sight of an opening in the rockface that had done him the favor of not falling directly on top of him. That was a mistake you only made once or possibly four times before learning not to stand too close. Very quickly, he decided not to look a gift-sculpted-giant-tiger-head in the mouth and jumped to his feet, scampering inside before the massive and heavy door had the chance to change its mind about being open. 

“What do you want Spicer? And if you’re going to say “company” you can go ahead and show yourself out in the next three seconds.” Chases voice coming from behind him instead of above him was entirely unexpected, and therefore the most logical reaction to it was to trip over the stairs and scramble around into an awkward sitting position to look at him. He did not look impressed, but that was more or less a permanent feature of his face. This was as hurtful as it was attractive. Oh, right, he was supposed to be groveling right now.

“Um, hhhhey buddy… how’s it goin? You look great, did you get your hair cut longer?”
“Three.” Oh, he was really actually going to count down the three seconds, alright, time to get to the point.
“I was actually wondering about, y’know, doing the whole evil-team-up thing again, that was fun! Right? Yeah! You- you could talk to Wuya about it! You two are still working together, right? She’ll tell you herself how I’m the best evil partner ever!”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Jack. It’s rude.” This time the voice did come from the top of the oversized stairway, but hearing her speak up didn’t startle him any less. He didn’t even hear her coming, why couldn’t she just wear shoes didn’t the rocks hurt ?? “I’m past the point of vouching for you and you know it.” oh and she was still talking. Wuya descended the stairs, stopping just a few steps above where he sat, and looked down at him with an unreadable expression. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Chase didn’t give her the chance.

“Just get the unpleasantries out of the way Spicer, what is it that you want and what is it that you have to offer?”
Jack swallowed hard, clearing his throat and trying his hardest to force words out of it.
“I… needaplacetostay.” He started, running his words together much too quickly. “I can’t go home for supplies or bots but I-I could still make more! Yeah! Or uh- a security system! Not that the tigers aren’t great! They’re great! Isn’t that what they say about tigers?” He forced out a nervous laugh, his hand gripping at the back of his neck so tightly it hurt. “Really though, I’ll do anything you need me for!” He paused for a moment, looking back at Wuya and grabbing at the bottom of her dress like it was a lifeline. “Don’t make me go home?” 

His attention was jerked back to Chase when the warlord made a sound that landed somewhere between being a laugh and being a snarl. “So let me see if I’m understanding you correctly. You’ve somehow managed to bring less to the table than usual, you have no plans to access what meager resources you do normally keep at your disposal, and despite your longstanding history of betraying everyone you’ve ever worked with, you expect me to shelter you in my home on the off chance you might someday prove yourself useful?” With every word, he sounded less amused and more angry, leaning over Jack with an intimidating glare.
“Yeah,” Jack shrugged, “that sounds about right, but when you put it that way it seems a little like a “maybe”, how about we bring that to a “yes”- or! Even just a “probably”!” He added, noting the warriors circling closer to where they were gathered. “Tell you what, let’s just put a pin in this, you think about it, and I stay here temporarily while you do! It’s a win-win right?”

Chase looked from him to Wuya, and then back. Then, finally, he addressed his warriors. “I don’t have time for this anymore, get him out of my sight.” Alright, in all fairness Jack had been ready to deal with the possibility of Chase kicking him out. “Feel free to eat him once you’re outside, I think we’ve wasted enough time on politeness.” the warlord added as one of the tigers snapped its powerful jaws down on Jacks sleeve, ripping him out of his firmly locked grip on Wuya’s skirt and dragging him back towards the mouth of the citadel. Wait a minute, getting eaten usually meant dying, and being dead was not a possibility he was ready to deal with! Unfortunately, no amount of calling out “stop!” or “wait!” or “I’m too young to be cat food!” seemed to make a difference, after two and a half years of putting up with him, Chase Young had finally had enough. 

Had either of them paid more attention, they would’ve noticed Wuya slipping out after the cats and their screaming human lunch buffet, or maybe they wouldn’t’ve noticed her either way. These were simply the benefits of never wearing shoes.

This was it. He was definitely going to die. Not only that but he was going to die while being used as an oversized cat toy. That was up there on the list of worst ways to die. Usually, the warriors were terrifying and mildly painful, but the moment they dragged him outside and one clamped down on his leg for real Jack nearly blacked out. That would be bleeding and he would have to deal with cleaning it later except he wouldn’t because he’d be dead.
A sharp whistle and the pain stopped. Well, no it didn’t, his leg was still in a significant amount of pain, but it wasn’t progressively getting worse. Had Chase changed his mind that fast? Probably not. Did Jack want to open his eyes and risk seeing how badly they’d managed to mangle him in order to find out? Even more probably not.

“Jack, get off the ground.” Now that was a voice he could open his eyes to.
“Wuya!” Within seconds he’d latched himself back onto her skirt, wrapping himself around her shins in case of any more oncoming carnivores. “Thank you! I knew you wouldn’t kill me!” He looked up at her, if she was here then that probably meant; “You DO want to team up with me again I KNEW it!”
“Jack,” She started, but didn’t get the chance to finish.
“The original evil dream team! Back in action baby! It’s harder than that to take us down!”
“Jack-”
“Lemme guess, Chase “Only I Can Have Big Strong Powers And Shiny Hair” Young is still keeping you from using magic? What’s the plan? I’m on board already-”
“JACK!” Wuya glared down at him, arms crossed and fingers tapping against her arm impatiently.
“Ok, ok no need to yell.”
“I didn’t come out here to make the mistake of partnering with you again. I came out here to tell you to go home.”

Oh… oh. “I can’t,” he paused, clearing his throat, this wasn’t a good time for his voice to start shaking, he still didn’t let go of her legs. “I mean… don’t you want your powers back? Don’t you want to rule the world again! But… with me this time? Right?”
She heaved a frustrated sigh, and easily stepped out of what he thought was an iron grip. Then she took a step back and bent down slightly, closer to where he knelt on the ground with his arms still outstretched and grabbing at the air. And then she looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in a long while. She looked tired, and if he didn’t know better he would almost say sad. This wasn’t like her, and that was unnerving enough to shut him up.

“Of course I want power again, but let’s face the facts here, I’ve got a better shot of getting it with Chase than I ever had with you, even if he is just plain difficult. You had a good run Jack, but the farthest you ever got me was out of a box.”
“But- but I- I thought we had something.” Jack felt his lip quiver, no, no this was absolutely not the time to cry. “...Why let me go then?” He managed, swallowing the painful lump in his throat.
Wuya’s frown only deepened, her eyes shifting to the ground. “Because you’re right.” She looked back at him and finally stood up straight, “You’re a whiny, clingy, rich little brat most of the time you know,” that was a terrible explanation and also not very nice, “but,” she continued, that look of almost-sadness creeping back onto her face, “That doesn’t mean I don’t ca-” She cut off, glaring at the ground again, “Pity you. At least a little.” She shook her head, as if trying to push off something she didn’t want to think about. “Run home Jack, I’m sure your mommy is waiting.” She turned, walking back through the opening into the citadel, but just before the rocks slammed together behind her, she called back over her shoulder; “Don’t come back unless you have something to offer, I don’t know how many times these overgrown furballs will listen to me.”

For a moment, Jack only stared at the closed wall of rock, waiting for it to open again. It didn’t, and something told him breaking in now would mean a lot more than another bite on the leg. Which, for the record, still really hurt! He looked down, and that was a mistake because there was blood and that belonged inside his body and he felt sick looking at where teeth had been in his skin that was very bad to look at. Still, the rest of the situation was worse. If he couldn’t stay here that meant he’d have to resort to plan B, and he really, really, really didn’t like plan B.

Chapter Text

Hmmm, should he knock? Would that be the right way to go here? He could just show up maybe but knocking seemed more like what a "good" person would do. But knocking also meant they could turn him away. He was already getting blood on the temple gate. The best bet was probably for Jack to fly in on his own before they realized he was here and beat the crap out of him. He was running out of crap to have beaten out. 

He just had to stop leaning on the wall, that was easier said than done considering how dizzy he felt. It wasn't a very deep bite but that didn't mean the pain wasn't nauseating, he should wrap it. How was he supposed to do that? He read about first aid once, not that that would be of much help. The monks probably knew first aid, that was the kind of thing good upstanding citizens knew, he just needed-

"JACK SPICER!!"

Not that. Jack did not need a small talking jawbreaker to break his jaw right now. 

“Why are you always down on our business?!” Omi continued, the sharp angry poke he gave to Jack’s side was enough to knock him off balance and land him on the ground, hands held up in predetermined surrender. 

“Wait wait!! ” Jack said loudly and anxiously but he was definitely not screaming. “I’m not here to be down on your- uh. Up in your… I’m not here to take your wu!”

“Give me one reason why I should believe you,” Omi crossed his arms, still on guard but not moving to hit him, that was always a good sign.

“I-”

“Actually! That was a tricky question, there are no reasons that would make me believe you!” This was less of a good sign. Still, Jack wasn’t out of ideas just yet. He just had to make it seem like this was the right thing to do, noble and honorable and whatever, they were all about that shit, right?

“Please?” He’d bring himself up on his knees but trying to do so resulted in another stab of pain shooting through his injured leg, at least that helped with the- absolutely fake he’d die before admitting otherwise- tears he threw in to seal the deal garnering sympathy. “I can’t go home, I, uh…” Boarding school wasn’t enough of a reason, he’d have to embellish just a little, “I got kicked out! Abandoned! Tossed to the curb like yesterday’s garbage for a little over-spending!”  Nearly four-hundred-thousand dollars worth, but what the saps here didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Or him, more importantly. 

“That sounds most disappointing, but tough turkeys! You have taken advantage of our kindness before, and we will not be boiled by you again!” Omi didn’t look impressed, damn, usually all it took was a little bit of pathetic desperation and the little cheeseball would roll right over with sympathy, but this time he was already moving to slam the gate in Jack’s face. Why did he have to start learning to question people’s motives now ? That just wasn’t fair. Also, he had to be making this stuff up.
“You’ve gotta be making this stuff up.” Not the best conclusion to lead with, but he could salvage this. “I mean… That you’re giving up so fast. That doesn’t sound like you y’know.”

Omi froze on the spot. He’d struck a nerve. Perfect. “Giving up? I never said anything about giving up! Who is giving up?” 

“No no, really, I get it… I come here, beaten, disowned, injured, hoping for just one more shot at turning over a new leaf, and I just expect you to be able to handle it.” Omi’s eye nearly twitched, he was taking the bait. Jack didn’t let up. “You’re right, I’m bad, some might even say the definition of evil itself-”

“Oh no, no one would say that-” 

“Ok, no need to be hurtful- I mean. Uh. Oh yeah right- Maybe I’m beyond help! I thought if anyone could do it it’d be you, but maybe there’s some challenges even you can’t handle…”

Omi pulled the gate back open so hard it nearly came off the hinges. “There is NOTHING I can not handle! Jack Spicer, you are going to change for the better, that leaf WILL be turned! You will spin that leaf until it gets dizzy and falls down by the time I am done with you! Of course I-” 

Hook line and sucker, he was in. Jack was nothing if not a master of reverse seismology... Wait that didn't sound right seismology was the one with rocks... Or earthquakes... Or both. That wasn't important! What was important was the fact that Omi was grabbing him by the hand and tugging him inside, and saying… something. He tuned back in; 

“-won’t make things easier on you just because you are injured, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have any time to recover, as a Xiaolin dragon in training, it would be most dishonorable for me not to assist the injured and pathetic.”

Nah, he could tune right back out while the little guy went on and on about how great and honorable it was to be a “decent person” and a “functioning productive member of society” Hard pass.

He took the opportunity to note any surrounding walls that looked particularly breakable- all of them- Or any he could climb over to make a quick escape if flight wasn’t an option- none of them. He kept tabs on every window, door, and possible exit as he was lead inside. Not much outside had changed since his last time raiding the temple, but it’d been much longer since he was able to casually walk through it. The sound of plates knocking together from down one hall had him flinching, hands thrown up to defend his face from the inevitable beatdown... that never came. Opening his eyes and lowering his hands he only saw Omi, who was shooting him a confused look. Jack shrugged the incident off and followed him through another door into a small bathroom. He didn’t need to worry, he reminded himself, sitting on the closed toilet lid as Omi rummaged through cabinets looking for something or other. The little Charlie-Brown wannabe had let him in, it’d go against his code or whatever to hurt him out of nowhere. 

If he’d been paying attention, he’d’ve heard the warning about the disinfectant Omi was about to spray on his open wound, but instead, it hurt him out of nowhere. 

“OW-OWOWIEWHYWOULD YOU DO THAT-”

Footsteps were fast-approaching the bathroom, and within seconds a full-house of monks were standing in the doorway, looking a lot more threatening than a bottle of disinfectant. Juuuust perfect.

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“YOU DID WHAT!??” The question was unanimous, and loud. Omi didn't seem phased and Jack could only hope that was a good sign. For the time being he opted to position himself behind the small monk, so at least something could stand between him and the angry dragon warriors currently looking like they usually looked when they were about to kick his ass.

“Omi, what is the meaning of this?” Master Fung stepped forward- thank god, that old geezer had never kicked his ass- whether or not he had the capacity was unimportant. 

"Master Fung," Omi spoke with a respectful bow, but stood his ground all the same, "I am once again asking for the opportunity to turn Jack Spicer to the side of good."

Master Fung closed his eyes with a sigh and placed a hand on Omi's shoulder. "Young Monk, it has been said that to repeat a failed action in the exact same way and expect different results is the very definition of insanity."

"Yeah right!" Jack finally spoke up, any intimidation he'd felt shoved to the wayside for the time being, "What old windbag came up with that dumb idea?"

"That was Einstein, Einstein," Kimiko crossed her arms and fixed Jack with a glare, "Why would we believe you anyway? Are we supposed to pretend stealing our shen gong wu isn’t the only reason you’re here?”  

Before Jack could respond with the ingenious comeback of sticking his tongue out at her, Omi had taken another step forward and opened his arms to his friends. The gesture was probably supposed to be pleading but it had the effect of a human shield and that was good enough for Jack.

“My friends,” Omi began, “I understand your skepticism, and I know that you can not teach a new dog old tricks, but I also believe it is the duty of a Xiaolin monk never to give up on doing the right thing. I assure you that this time we will do the right thing in a smarter way.”

Bless him, bless his tiny body and giant head and beautiful soul, “Hell yeah, less chores!” Jack gave the air a celebratory fist pump before realizing that Omi had turned back around and was slowly shaking his head.
“Oh no,” the young monk said with a self-assured smile, “You will still be doing many, many chores, you will simply not be left alone with any shen gong wu nearby! We will be keeping you under the most strict of observations so that no matter how great the temptation to return to the side of evil is, you will not be able to!”   

Fuck. Jack deflated, somehow this was shaping up to be worse than the last time he tried the whole “having morals” thing. Not that he really tried. Or that he planned on really trying this time. Absolutely not. Not him. Never.  

After a tense moment of silence, Master Fung gave a small, conceding nod. “Very well, Jack Spicer will be allowed to remain here at the temple, Kimiko, Raimundo, Clay, you will all help Omi to keep an eye on him.”

The collective groan rising from three out of four of his newly appointed oppressors was insulting, it was like they didn’t like him or something! Raimundo and Kimiko muttered frustrated profanity at a volume just loud enough for him to overhear, and while Clay didn’t speak a word out loud, the mind reader conch wasn’t necessary to know that he was thinking the same thing they were. Nevertheless, the old man kept talking.

“You are to watch him in shifts during chores, meals, training, and sleep-”

“I am NOT watching him sleep,” Kimiko cut in, nearly gagging at the thought, “That is way too creepy.” Before Jack could respond by telling her she probably wished she could, Omi held his hands up to the group.
“No, my friends,” He said, attempting to placate the growing frustration of his fellow monks, “it was my decision to allow Jack Spicer a second chance to attempt to redeem himself, it should be my responsibility to keep an eye on him, rest assured I will watch him like a pigeon.”

No one had the chance to correct him before Master Fung cleared his throat,
“Omi, I understand that you wish to prove your faith and ability to teach, but this is not a responsibility that can be taken on alone.”

“But-” Omi’s protest got about as far off the ground as his height as Master Fung continued.
“Consider this a lesson in teamwork, young monks,” Then, after a short pause, he added, “And in patience. Much, much patience.” 

“Great, so we all get to deal with getting robbed when this is over,” Raimundo scoffed, “Out of curiosity, is it my authority as a leader to nix this whole idea?”

“If, as a leader, you wish to take on the chores that would have been assigned to your team’s potential apprentice.” Never in his life had Jack wanted to high five an old man so badly, and this included the older version of himself. The elation was short-lived, however, when he realized that at the end of the day it would still be him doing a metric shitload of housework. 

“You know what, actually, The whole “teamwork and patience” thing doesn’t sound all that bad.” Raimundo was quick to change his tune to one of forced enthusiasm, because the one plight he could sympathize with was not wanting to do the aforementioned metric shitload of housework. Not that sympathy was the word he’d use, he knew from experience that the singular upside to having Jack around was the significantly lightened workload. 

And so a decision was made, with quite a bit of foot-dragging, grumbling, and general dissatisfaction from almost all sides, which is, of course, commonplace in decision making. Jack would stay at the temple, under near constant supervision. Apparently, saying “There’s no way you’re following me into the bathroom!” was a mistake, as Omi was quick to unhelpfully reassure him that he would simply “Stand dutifully outside the door until you are finished, and make you answer questions every few seconds to make sure you are not planning an escape!” 

 Jack was very quickly beginning to wonder if boarding school would’ve been not so bad actually.

Chapter Text

At two days in, which was six hours longer than his last attempt at being "good," Jack decided that no, boarding school would've been a hell of a lot more better than this. Every muscle in his body was on fire, and also made of jello, but instead of the fire evaporating the water in the jello the jello just stayed on fire. Yesterday had him making breakfast, cleaning up after breakfast, doing the laundry- which for some reason still seemed like a task they only did once a year. What kind of people lived in a temple this big and couldn't splurge on a washing machine?- cleaning at least 7 hallways, doing the dishes after dinner, and for some inexplicable reason, replacing shingles on the roof until 10pm. 

He never thought he'd say this, but it was a stroke of pure luck that it was Omi's turn to take the night shift watching him, his first night Clay's solution had been to hogtie him on his floor mat because he "reckoned  that way they could both get some shut-eye." He never wanted to think about that sequence of events again for the rest of his life or after it.

This morning, right on cue at 6am, he'd been ruthlessly Tornami'd into the waking world. 

At least they were smart enough to spare him from the task of making breakfast this morning, maybe brutally burning as much food as possible on purpose had gotten him off that hook for a while. 

Why? Why had he expected things to be any better this time around? Why did he think that, when Omi handed him a folded up pile of dorky pajamas that actually fit, it meant maybe he could do this? Why did he ever think he could do this? 

The monotony was going to kill him, or at least turn him into a brain dead vegetable- and he didn't even LIKE vegetables! He'd made the mistake of trying, really trying, more than 12 hours of effort trying, which was way too much trying for way too little payoff if you asked him. Not that anyone asked him. Hell, he'd planned to build these people a dishwasher, an entire dishwasher ! With minimal guns inside of it! An idealistic olive branch to extend to them because clearly they couldn't afford to buy one, or were just afraid of modern technology considering the majority of the population within the grounds of the temple fell into the age range of "really old" to "how are you still alive old". 

But no. NoOoOoO. "You can't draw up blueprints for things Jack!" "You can't build a dishwasher because we don't trust you not to make it come alive and rob blind in our sleep Jack!" "We know you're just trying to get out of doing work you hate by getting the same results from doing work you actually enjoy Jack!" Unbearable. WHERE was gratitude on the list of core moral values of being a good person? Shouldn't it have been on that list? He'd never actually read the list but it seemed like gratitude should have been on there.

But none of his ideas for technical improvements were given so much as a second glance. Instead? Instead everyone kept telling him to meditate . To "clear his mind". How the hell was he supposed to do that? It sounded fake. Just have an empty mind with no thoughts in it? No way. He couldn't just not have any thoughts on account of not being a stupid idiot. Shutting off your entire brain was definitely a stupid idiot thing to do.

Livid, he scrubbed the plate in his hands even harder. A little too hard, the soapy dish slipping out of his hands and hitting the floor with an incriminating crash, shattering into pieces.

Omi shot up from across the room the instant it did, abandoning whatever scroll he'd been studying- probably something stupid written in the thirteen-hundreds about how they never should've invented the wheel because now people don't walk everywhere and that's lazy or something-

"Jack," Omi crossed his arms, looking up at Jack in what he immediately recognized as the condescending disapproval one would use to discourage a toddler. It made him feel sick. "I understand that you do not yet grasp the purpose of physical labor and the importance of self-discipline, but that does not mean you can simply break our dishes to get out of cleaning them!"

That was it. That. Was. It. Jack's hands shook, his face burned, he wasn't going to cry he wasn't going to cry he was not going to cry. 

"Well EXCUSE me little Mr. PERFECT." He spat the words out with every ounce of venom he could manage in his current state of exhaustion. "Just because you're 'self-disciplined' enough to have never dropped or broken anything in your LIFE doesn't mean everybody else messes everything up on purpose." He was not going to cry. Just because his voice cracked it didn't mean he was going to cry. "I don't know why I thought this would be any better than boarding school because I'd probably be doing the exact same shit there since apparently being a good person revolves around doing useless things you don't want to do in the most tedious way possible and then patting yourself on the back for not complaining!" Just because every muscle in his body ached and he missed his mother and his house and feeling like he was capable of doing anything right didn't mean he was going to cry. "It's not my fault being 'good' is the most hardest most boringest thing anyone has ever done- nobody told me that y'know!" Just because every failure at doing "good things" was stuck under a microscope and picked apart infinitely more than any failure at doing "bad things" ever had been did not mean he was going to cry. 

Omi looked at him like he'd just said the sun wasn't real or that he was secretly millions of ants in a human suit. Was that possible? Were there people out there just stuffed chock full of ants? What if there were ant people? Imagine the evil potential-

This train of thought screeched to a shot when Omi spoke.

"I… do not understand? Being good is not difficult Jack, self-discipline only takes a bit of patience to learn. It has always been simple for me."

Unbelievable. Unbelievable . Jack honestly thought he might throw up. Crescents pressed into his palms from how tightly he squeezed his shaking hands into fists, but when he spoke he wasn't yelling anymore. If anything, his next words were uncharacteristically quiet.

"Well you know what, chrome-dome? Maybe you should get it through your thick head that I'm Not you." 

He turned before Omi could say anything else, took two steps towards the kitchen door, and ran . Just like he did from home, just like he did from Chase's, just like he wanted to do from this stupid temple. His vision blurred, he said he wouldn't do this, he promised himself he wouldn't do this, which was, in retrospect, completely pointless considering he'd never kept a promise to anyone in his life. 

Vaguely, he knew he wouldn't make it all the way out of the temple, he knew he was outnumbered and that his legs burned too much from the past few days to keep running. So he did the next best thing, throwing himself into the first room he found and slamming the door shut behind him. He thanked whatever minimal luck he had that he'd found his way into a bathroom, and he all too eagerly slid the lock shut. Maybe he could just stay in there forever and live off of eating toothpaste and never get another cavity and also never get his ass kicked for trying to run, which he was unquestionably sure is what would happen if he were to get caught. He'd finally given everyone the excuse he knew they'd been waiting for, hadn't he? Maybe now they'd at least be happy about something he did. He sank to the floor against the opposite wall, pulling his knees to his chest and telling himself that- no matter how much his eyes burned or his breath hitched, he wasn't crying. He was not going to cry.

Chapter Text

"Can't we just drag him out of there and get it over with?" Kimiko let out a quiet huff, leaning hard against the wall with a light thump , "This is a serious step down from trying to steal our wu, even for Spicer."

Clay nodded from where he stood opposite her in the hallway, then turned to look at Omi, crouched next to the door. "Omi, I think it's real admirable what all you're tryin’ to do for him, but this is gettin’ downright ridiculous. Unless he's been eatin my Aunty Ida's 75 alarm chili dogs then there ain't no reason for anybody to be in a bathroom that long."

Kimiko shuddered in response. " Way too much information."

"Well it ain't wrong," Clay crossed his arms, "'sides, I got a mud mask waitin on me in there."

Kimiko and Omi bother looked at him, blinking in slight confusion.

"What?" Clay stood up a little straighter, "Cowboys can't make any time for skincare?"

Neither of them had a response, only shaking their heads and quietly agreeing that no, there was no reason to forego skincare. 

Returning his attention to the door, Omi continued his attempts to talk Jack out of the room, which, Jack had to admit, almost made him want to open the door just so Omi would stop talking.

"Jack," Unfortunately, he was still talking, "I did not mean to insult your inability to perform the simple tasks involved in achieving moral redemption, I simply forgot that most easy things are actually very very hard for you!"

 Usually tuning out anyone he didn't want to listen to was easy, but after knocking over his third attempt at stacking every soap bottle he could get his hands on, it was getting harder and harder for Jack to not hear everything drifting through the door. He wanted something to break, something to take apart and put together better, anything to stop having to listen. He tried reading the soap bottle ingredient lists but the type was so small it made his head throb. Most letters already look too much alike, how was anyone supposed to know what was in their shampoo if every letter was small enough to be completely ambiguous? 

Out in the hall, Omi had finally decided to change tactics. "Very well, Jack Spicer," he stood, taking a few steps back from the door as he spoke his warning, "if you are not coming out, then we are coming in! I suggest you step away from the door."

Positioning himself to kick in the door, he was stopped by a hand gently taking him by the shoulder.

"Sometimes, Omi, the only way to deal with the most impatient of students, is to become the most patient of teachers." Master Fung had approached in absolute silence, otherwise Omi surely would've heard him over his own loud one-sided conversation with the bathroom. His mentor continued with a sigh, "Also, please don't break down doors inside the temple, I believe we've had this conversation."

Omi lowered his head, remembering the fact that they had absolutely had this conversation. Multiple times. "But Master Fung," he persisted, a little more quietly than before, "It has been four hours ! How much patience do we need?"

"He's right." The sharp statement came from the entrance of the hallway, Raimundo leaning against one wall and walking his feet up the wall opposite, doing his best to seem bored, but refusing to look at any of his friends down the hall. "We've been patient enough, if Spicer doesn't want to be here then he doesn't want to be here, it's not our job to wait around and hope he decides he does." 

The spark of joy Omi had gotten from his two favorite words, "he's right," fizzled out. That wasn't what he'd meant at all! He opened his mouth to protest, but Raimundo cut him off before he could so much as make a sound.

"Look. You can't just make someone good who doesn't even want to be good Omi. It doesn't work that way."

"But.. but.." Omi frowned, what if he had a point, what if Jack didn't even want to be good? He didn't like the idea, and disliked the idea of giving up even more, but he had to admit, he was tired of trying to talk to Jack through a locked door without so much as a word in return. He heaved a sigh, face falling into a disappointed frown. "I suppose… You have a point. Perhaps you can lead a cow to the river, but you can not drown the cow…"

Muffled, from the opposite side of the door, came the first response anyone had gotten in the past four hours. "You were going to DROWN me??? How sick are you people!?"

Within the sanctuary of the bathroom, Jack clamped a hand over his mouth, mentally kicking himself for giving in to whatever twisted mind games they were using to try and make him talk. They were clever with their threats, sure, but they wouldn't be getting to him so easily again.

Back on the other side of the thin walls, Master Fung shook his head with a quiet exhale. "Raimundo," he spoke, turning to look at him, "I trust I can leave you to tell them what we discussed?"

Raimundo didn't look up from his concentrated practice of walking his way further up the wall, "Yeah yeah, don't worry about it, I got it from here." 

Master Fung briefly raised an eyebrow, but nodded all the same, and without another word he stepped out of the hall, seeming to disappear once he turned the first corner.

"Rai, what was he talking about? What are you telling us you discussed?" Kimiko pushed herself away from the wall, shooting Raimundo a curious look. 

"A plan," he answered, noncommittally, "You guys are gonna leave. I'm gonna talk to him without throwing insults in- well, as few insults as possible but he does make it way too easy- and he's either gonna answer or he's not." 

" You're ? Gonna talk to him?" Her confusion was audible, "You're gonna talk Spicer- Jack Spicer - into a rational conversation ?"

"I hate to say it, partner, but Kimiko has a point," Clay chimed in, nodding slowly in agreement, "You got plenty of strengths, but playin’ good-cop to get Spicer talkin’ sure don't sound like one of 'em." 

Instead of answering, Raimundo pushed himself away from both sides of the wall at once, propelling upwards before coming to land beside the group. "Like I said, if Spicer doesn't want to be good, we can't make him want to be good. But I need you guys to trust me when I say I've got a plan. Ok?" 

Clay was the first to nod, clapping Raimundo on the shoulder. "I dunno what all you've got planned Rai, but if you say you know what your doin’ then- well then, I trust you know what you’re doin’." And with that, he moved to leave.

Kimiko followed close behind, punching him lightly on the shoulder as she passed. "Knock 'em dead, Rai." 

She offered a smile, "no, seriously. Knock him dead if you have to."

Raimundo didn't bother to stifle a short laugh as she left, stopping only when he felt a gentle tug on his pant leg. Omi stared up at him, his expression serious and bordering on concern.

“You are our Leader, Raimundo," He spoke quietly, eyes narrowing slightly in determination, "And I trust your decision making, but even I could not get him to answer. I only hope that you know what you are doing.” 

He didn't offer Raimundo a chance to respond before he followed Clay and Kimiko, leaving his friend alone in front of the once again silent locked room.

"Yeah," He practically whispered, more to himself than to Omi's retreating form, "Yeah, me too…"

Chapter Text

Jack Spicer was not the kind of person Raimundo wanted to admit to sharing any common ground with. The idea of it alone felt inherently self-deprecating. Maybe he should've just kept his mouth shut and let Spicer screw them over again — not like it would be anything they weren't all used to. But Omi was so invested, so determined to see the good in everyone. The little guy had even tried to see the good in Chase Young for years- Raimundo had the feeling that deep down he was still trying to see it. And, he wasn't entirely sure where he'd be if Omi had given up on seeing the good in him … That last factor being part of the reason he was standing in that hallway in the first place. Rallying for Omi's sake seemed to be a factor in everyone's willingness to let Jack come within twenty feet of them (still too close, honestly). That wasn't the issue that had Raimundo pacing the empty hall in silence five full minutes after it had been vacated. 

No, what had him wondering if he should just turn tail and walk off to go play Goo Zombies 7 was the fact that he got it . He knew what this was about, outside of the general "weh weh I wanna be an evil overlord" bullshit Jack was usually spouting. There was something he'd heard him say that he understood. And that was horrifying. Having something in common with Spicer? He'd probably barf if the bathroom wasn't currently otherwise occupied.

He took a deep, unsettled breath. Was this whole empathy thing part of being a good leader? It sounded like it probably should be, and that was just shit luck for him wasn't it? Alright, trying to do what a good leader would do was probably a decent step to becoming one. With a thump that was nearly deafening considering how silent the hall had been for the past few minutes, he sat on the floor below him, leaning heavily on the bathroom door.

"... It's not "

"What?" Jack replied much more quickly than he'd meant to, he hadn't been planning on replying at all, having assumed the monks had given up and that if they were going to say anything else to him it'd be that they'd called his parents and were all in on the plan to ship him off to Saint Rockwell's. 

"Easy." Raimundo continued, looking up at the ceiling and trying to pretend he was talking to literally anyone else. "What Omi said dude- it's total crap. He's a great little dude and all but he doesn't exactly get the idea of any style that's not his. We cut him slack most of the time but. He's wrong. Being good's not easy."

Jack gave up on his current endeavor of building a survivalist's tent out of the shower curtain in favor of standing stock-still and staring at the door in disbelief. He let thirty seconds pass. Where was it? Forty-five. Why wouldn't he say it already? A full minute of tense silence passed before he caved out of frustration.

"Well?!" He demanded, loudly, "where's the punchline!? Spit it out and laugh already!"

It took a considerable amount of Raimundo's effort not to kick down the door and show him a real punch line. But he didn't- not yet at least.

"There isn't any punchline. There isn't even any joke. I said what I said Spicer, being good isn't just some easy thing you do." This was a bad idea, he didn't want to deal with talking to Jack about this- he didn't want to talk about this at all!

"Of course it's a joke!" Jack audibly stomped up to the door, "of course it's easy! You guys are good people all the time! You're Mr. Fancy Important leader of the good guy brigade! If it's so hard to be good then why are you always being it?!..." He cut off, thinking briefly, "well except that one time you gave Wuya her body back and helped her take over the world. Aaaand that other time the Heylin comet made you into a freaky looking Wu-puppet. And-"

"Don't push it Spicer." 

Jack fell silent, and Raimundo could practically hear him shrinking away from the door again. Right. Patience. That's what he was supposed to be practicing here. Watching paint dry may have sounded like a much more pleasant alternative to practicing patience, but, he could do this. He took a deep breath and continued. 

"Look, doing the right thing is rarely doing the easy thing. Actually almost never. It's usually doing the hardest, most obnoxious thing possible.” This conversation really was a prime example. “The easy thing to do is usually something kinda stupid, because you get what you think you want when you want it-”
“Yeah? So? Still sounds pretty un-stupid to me.” The muffled voice from the other side of the door was disruptive enough to pull Raimundo out of his own head. He wasn’t talking to himself. Right. 

“A lot of stupid things don’t sound stupid to you.” Despite an indignant protest from Jack, he continued talking, “But everything you do because it seems easier, everything I did because it seemed easier? Was stupid! Dude do you think I showed up psyched to sleep on the floor and do chores all the time? No way! Of course things seemed better over on the Heylin side- But they’re not better. They’re just easier.”

“Wha-” The question is cut off, Jack’s had his chance to say anything worth listening to for the time being.

“Easier until you want friends that aren’t just piles of rocks- robots don’t count either.” 

Unseen from his spot sitting on the bathroom floor, Jack closed his mouth and lowered the hand he’d risen in protest. They should count. Except for when they also decided to backstab… Hm.

“The point of being good is proving you can care about other people more than you care about yourself,” Raimundo continued, Jack only wishing his eyeroll could be audible. No one actually cared about other people that much. That was just an excuse to be self-righteous. Probably. Maybe. Or to get money, that’s right, most people needed to be agreeable to get jobs and make money. Haha losers. When he figured out how to un-cut-off his credit card it was over for everyone else.

“And it’s not about what you get out of it in stuff or in attention or in whatever other weird instant reward you’re probably thinking about right now.” That regained his attention. How did he know? Was that some psychic mind trick they got to learn? Why didn’t anyone just tell him he could learn to be psychic!? That would be worth washing dishes at least one more time. Maybe two.

“It’s about the fact that when you fuck up and do something like give an evil witch her body back and plunge the world into one thousand years of darkness for two days they believe you when you say you’re sorry. Because you prove it. Being good isn’t about being perfect or doing chores or always making the right decision. It’s about trying. Because as long as you keep trying instead of giving up because it isn’t easy, then eventually you’ll have enough people supporting you that it starts to get easier. You do for that family and that family will do for you man, even when you aren’t perfect.”

Jack didn’t like that. At all. Not because it sounded pretentious or fake like he’d expected it to, but worse, it didn’t. It sounded like something Raimundo believed , whole heartedly. Like it could be something someone genuinely thought. It made his stomach hurt and he thought for the trillionth time that he just wanted to go home. And he couldn’t go home. Whether he believed the sappy feel-good motivational speech or not, his best option was to deal with the rock he knew instead of the hard place he didn’t.

Clearing the drastically smudged eyeliner that had taken over the majority of his face to the best of his ability, he took a deep breath and opened the door, still refusing to look Raimundo in the eye as he walked past him.

“I’ll wash the stupid dishes, just stop trying to convince me the ‘power of friendship’ exists outside Saturday morning cartoons.”

Chapter Text

Day number… He counted the tally marks he'd drawn on the paper divider that was trying its best to do the job of a bedroom wall- fourteen. Fourteen days of chores and work and early mornings. Fourteen days of telling himself he didn't miss home. 

The workload had evened out- just barely, but enough that he could spend an hour or so a day on what he wanted. On designing, on creating, on balling up another piece of paper with rudimentary ideas for an enormous WWE wrestler style robot and tossing it in the corner, with the other garbage. Who was he kidding? He couldn't work like this, the boredom and exhaustion fogged his brain and left his body feeling like it was made of sandbags. He rolled onto his back to glare up at the ceiling and chewed on his pen instead. It tasted like boredom, and also cheap plastic.

It took maybe twenty seconds of staring at the ceiling before the sound of a frustrated sigh cut through his thoughts of why plastic tasted so tolerable. Kimiko.

"Hello?? Earth to Spicer? Guy who was supposed to take the trash out 20 minutes ago? Guy whose butt is about to get kicked for not doing that?"

    He turned his head, just enough to glare at her. “Hey back off, I get an hour of Jack-time remember?”
“Ok, ew, first of all never say that ever again. And what are you talking about? You’ve been lying there staring at the ceiling for 45 minutes straight!”

    Oh. “Oh,” Well that sucked, he had stuff he wanted to do other than chew the ink out of a stupid pen… Ah, the pen had broken at some point, that explained the new inky flavor. “That’s not-” What? Not fair? When had that ever mattered? He gave up with a groan, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve and sitting up. “Fine, I’m going ok?” 

    Kimiko watched in silent confusion as Jack stood, dragging his feet as he went, but collecting trash bags to bring outside nonetheless. Was this some kind of trick? Was he dying?  She did not want to spend her night cleaning up a dead body. Unless... Unless Raimundo had gotten through to him somehow. It wasn’t that she doubted him, Rai was her friend, but playing guidance counselor to Spicer really didn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d actually want to put time and effort into. That didn’t sound like something anyone would want to put time and effort into. She shuddered, that sounded horrible and she was going to stop thinking about it. Besides, she had a monthly tech-catalog email calling her name. 

 She was going to say no. It didn't matter what he did or offered to do, she was absolutely going to say no, and Jack wasn't entirely sure why he was going to bother trying. He looked down at the ink stains on his hands, right, painful soul crushing boredom was why.

      "Hhhheey Kimiko-"

"No." She didn't even look up from her Lenovo.

       "You don't even know what I'm asking for!" 

"Well, now I know you're asking for something, so it looks like "no" was already the answer you were gonna get."

      Why. Bother. Trying. He continued to try, dropping to his knees with his hands clasped in front of him.

"Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaasssee?"

She finally looked over at him, nose scrunching slightly as if his desperation carried a smell- or maybe because he'd just taken out like ten pounds of garbage.

" What?" If she had to watch him try and grovel his way out of chores she was going to dropkick his ass out the nearest window. He hopped up, all traces of falsified sniveling gone at the chance of personal gain. 

"Could I. Maybe. Just for a little bit, borrow your computer?"

Silence. She looked at him. Looked at her laptop. Then started laughing. Genuine doubled over hysterical laughing. Whatever she'd been expecting him to ask had not been this funny, she couldn't even be mad about it. Finally, after struggling to sit back up and wiping a tear from her eye, she answered.

"Hah! Ok ok I'll admit, that was a good one, you really got me for a second. "Borrow my computer." Pfft." The room fell silent for just a brief moment, broken by her much less humorous “...Oh wait you were serious?” 

    “Well I was. ” Jack crossed his arms, drawing in on himself and taking a step back towards the wall. “It’s not like I can just run home to check for my TechGo email- Look just. Fine. Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” He wanted to argue. Whine. Try and snatch the computer when she wasn’t looking. He wanted to fight.
    Except, no, he really didn’t. Fighting would mean getting his ass handed to him on a silver platter along with an extended list of chores- or worse- getting kicked out entirely. Fighting would mean being fought, and he really, really did not want that part. He was already turning to walk away when Kimiko spoke again, already sounding like she regretted it before she even finished the question.

    “...You have a TechGo subscription?” 

Jack rolled his eyes with a huff. “Uh, duh? Any evil boy genius worth his title would never turn down a free list of inventions and the parts to make them. What, you think evil robots just slap themselves together without any planning?”
    Kimiko raised a silent eyebrow.

“Actually, don't answer that.” Was one day of not having to remember how incompetent they all thought he was really too much to ask? “Like I said, whatever. Forget it.”

    …Oh Kimiko did not want to do what she was about to do. She knew with complete certainty that she was going to regret it, she was going to regret it so much.

    “Fine. But only because they’ve got cool listings this month and it’s not like you can order anything.”

       Of course not, he didn't know why he'd bothered asking and- Wait. Really?

     "Wait, really??" Jack blinked owlishly in disbelief. Was this a joke? A test? A trap? Was a large cartoonish mallet going to somehow spring from the computer screen and comically flatten him into the floor the second he got too close?

      "Just sign in before I change my mind." Kimiko snapped, sliding the laptop over to him. But too good to be true is usually just that, and her hand raised the second he stood to pick it up. "Ohh no, as much as I hate the fact that you're in my room, you're not taking that anywhere. I do not want to see whatever your internet history would look like if I left you alone with it. You get to sit, check your email, then give it back."

     Jack grumbled something to himself about constant surveillance, but he wasn't about to look a gift computer in the mouth… screen? Computer mouth. He sat.

    The catalog issue wasn’t even that cool this month. It wasn’t disappointing or anything, just more communication-advancement focused than he had any need for. What was he supposed to do, communicate with people? Still, it was more freedom than he’d been allowed in weeks, even with Kimiko watching over his shoulder, and he was going to savor every minute of it. He’d nearly forgotten she was there until she spoke, startling him out of the most interesting thing he’d accessed in a long while.

    “I don’t wanna know where it’s from or what kind of virus it’s selling, and I’m only saying this so you don’t open it on my computer, but you’ve got one of the saddest looking spam emails I think I’ve ever seen.”

    Quizzically, he squinted at the email in question, then promptly clicked it anyway.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Arm Machine Broke. 

    Jack,

Sorry, Jack Spicer Evil Boy Genius 500 Other Titles I Can’t Remember. Dude. Anyway LOL so remember how you made me a sick robot arm? Obviously because otherwise you wouldn’t’ve messaged me about it- BTW are you like, good? Like no offense but were you on something? And where can I get whatever it was LMAO. Anyway long story short is that I kinda had to pull something out of a boat turbine and may have messed the arm up real bad, work stuff, sorry, what can ya do lol. The point is could I hit you up for a new one? Kinda got used to having two arms that can do stuff. I’ll pay for it obvi, but you’re still more bang for my buck than literally any doctors. LMK, thanks.
    -Schlongcat420
    “It’s not spam, it’s a client.” He didn’t bother to elaborate, sometimes an evil genius is down on his luck and has already pissed off the only semi-reliably funded loan shark in the evil business. Picking up the occasional freelance robotics commission was the next logical step. Not that that made it any less embarrassing to admit to his evil allowance being cut off. Funding. Evil funding that definitely was not just regular allowance. 

    It wasn’t until he’d gotten a little halfway through the email before he remembered the last communication he’d had with this particular client. It’d been about a year and a half ago- honestly he should’ve had some boring legal program write out an explicitly short warranty- but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that, when he last emailed this client, he hadn’t exactly been. Himself. No part of himself he’d admit to at least, he’d sent that email in the midst of what he could only describe as his own personal hell: being good . While the world was falling into shambles, his considerably worse half had decided that in between doting on Master Fung and being “helpful” at every opportunity, he should “Follow up on things” and “Make sure everything was working out alright” and say he “Hoped they were having just an absolutely WONDERFUL day! :) :) :)” Up until now he’d considered this a permanently burnt bridge, an unsalvageable dumpster fire, you can’t just send someone that many smiley faces and ever expect them to take you seriously again! 

    Before he could aggressively close out of the message as quickly as possible, another voice jolted him from his ongoing internal monologue of shame and disgust. Omi had somehow squeezed himself between Jack and Kimiko and was looking at the screen in rapt fascination.

    “Aha! So you do use the skills you actually have to help people! There is good in you Jack Spicer, and this is the perfect opportunity to strengthen it!” 

    “WOULD YOU NOT DO THAT?”
Omi ignored his- totally not startled- request in favor of snatching Kimiko’s computer and typing as quickly as possible for a boy with minimal keyboard experience and very small hands while also darting around the room avoiding two people actively trying to take the computer away from him. This game of keep-away lasted an embarrassingly long time and ended with him placing the computer in the exact spot he took it from with a grin plastered across his face.
    “A friend is an ally, and an ally is a friend! There is no need to thank me for sending your electronic mail for you,” A pause, his grin only grew, “buuut you are welcome to do so anyway!”

    Jack stared blankly at the screen, his stomach sinking down past the floor as he read.
From: [email protected]

Re: Arm Machine Broke

    HELLO MR. SCHLONGCAT! I AM OMI, A FRIEND OF JACK SPICER'S MESSAGING YOU FROM HIS ELECTRONIC MAILING ACCOUNT! IT IS VERY NICE TO MEET YOU, EVEN THOUGH I AM NOT MEETING YOU AT ALL! JACK IS CURRENTLY STAYING AT THE XIAOLIN TEMPLE AND WOULD BE VERY HAPPY TO HELP YOU WITH YOUR ROBOT PROBLEM AS LONG AS THE ROBOT IS NOT EVIL! HERE IS OUR ADDRESS []! PLEASE RESPOND WITH THE DAY OF YOUR ARRIVAL SO THAT WE CAN PREPARE FOR A GUEST! 

YOUR NEW FRIEND,

OMI.

    Shockingly, he did not choose to thank Omi for sending the message, instead responding only with an uncharacteristically quiet “What. Did. You. Do?”

Chapter Text

Festival Caribbean Cruise Line, ship 10347. 1 year ago. 2.5 years ago.

Taking a gap year was arguably one of the best decisions Jack Spicer, evil boy genius, had ever made, if he said so himself. And sitting poolside on the top deck of an international ocean liner working on his second virgin strawberry daiquiri of the day, he did say so.

Were there downsides? Sure. Having to steer clear of himself for a full year seemed easy until he realized that meant there was no way to pack for vacation without casing his own house until his future self left. It also meant only packing things he didn't think he'd miss. It wasn’t that he was worried about the whole “collapsing the timespace continuum” thing, he just didn’t feel like fighting himself over his own favorite shirt. He knew better than anyone that he fought dirty. He did swipe his own credit card though, left it out in the open on his dresser and everything, sucker.

The secondary downsides were all but forgotten until he stood from his reclining deck chair, remembered this boat was absolutely moving, and quickly realized that chugging down two glasses of strawberry syrup in a long sleeved shirt on a 93° moving ship was a terrible, horrible idea. This realization was solidified within the thirty seconds before he threw up both drinks over the side of the boat. This was a terrible decision, why did he do this?

Limply hanging halfway over the safety rail and pondering why life was so mean and cruel to him specifically, he nearly fell overboard when he was startled by a quiet, mildly skeptical;

"Dude. Do you want heatstroke? Because you look like you are definitely on purpose trying to get heatstroke."

He did not, as a matter of fact, want heatstroke, but that didn't make it any of this guy's business.

Jack turned his head as much as he could manage without inviting an onslaught of vertigo in order to glare at whoever was deciding to kick him while he was down. Just who did this guy think he... shhheee? Jack's glare became more of a confused squint as his brain caught up to the fact that he had no idea if he was talking to a boy or a girl, but someone who looked like they could very much toss him overboard if he made an unlucky guess.

He squinted harder at the realization that, maybe they couldn't throw him overboard, as they were missing their entire left arm. His staring didn't go unnoticed, and they looked from him down to the ocean and back again before continuing in an almost complete deadpan.

"Before you ask, I was hanging over the safety rail on the first cruise ship I was ever on and a great white shark the size of a bus launched itself forty feet up out of the water. Took the whole section of railing, three full passengers, and my arm. I vowed my revenge and I've been riding around on cruise ships hunting that shark ever since."

This was enough motivation for Jack to push himself away from the edge of the boat and stumble a few steps back before losing his balance and landing ass-first on the deck.

The stranger made a very poor attempt at stifling laughter.

 "Dude oh my god? I'm messing with you, we aren't about to get sharked out here, relax."

Relax? Easy for them to say, they weren't the one still reeling with nausea and forced to face down a potential giant shark jump scare.

"Yeah yeah, are you done?" He managed to spit, attempting to keep whatever dignity he had left intact, "Or did you actually want something? Because you're blocking my light here."

In lieu of response, they crouched down next to him, still managing to be obnoxiously tall. "Yeah I actually want something, I actually want to know if you're like, good? I was being for real man, no offense but you look like a guy that just stood up, hurled, and immediately fell on his butt, and you definitely do not look like a guy who's old enough to be drunk enough for that to make sense."

He blinked, processing their words more slowly than he'd like to admit. How was that not offensive?

"How is that not offensive?" Not wanting to bother with the atrocity of standing, Jack crossed his arms over his chest and attempted to stare them down. He bet they wished they could do that , huh? What now, jerk?

Seemingly unaffected by his intimidation tactics, they had the audacity to roll their eyes at him. Him! Jack Spicer! Evil Genius! Future ruler of the world!

"It'd be offensive if I didn't just watch it happen like a real time AFV clip. Seriously, when was the last time you drank any water?"

Water? What did that matter? Jack shrugged, shooting them an incredulous look, and gestured to the two empty mocktail glasses back at his seat. They did not seem impressed. They sighed exaggeratedly and extended their hand, presumably to push him back over. Jack flinched, bracing himself for the blow. It didn't come. Tentatively opening one eye, then the other, he realized they were...... offering to help him up?? Yeah right, like he was gonna fall for that. He pushed their hand away, heaving himself up off the ground perfectly well all on his own... before promptly wobbling in place as the boat shifted beneath him, landing him right back where he'd started, on his ass, this weirdo still holding out their only hand like a peace offering. Refusing to look at them, he took it, and they pulled him to his feet as easily as one might lift a sad wet cat.

"There you go, who knows what's been on the floor here dude, staying there would've been pretty gross." Once they were confident he wasn't going to keel over on his own two feet, they loosened their grip enough to give his hand a single shake. "Name's Cazz by the way, what's yours?"

He didn't return the handshake, still reeling from the mortifying ordeal of standing up. "Cazz” sure didn't give him much to go on regarding how to decode their gender either. Oh right, they asked a question.

"Uh. Jack Spicer. Evil boy genius, prince of darkness, future emperor of evil."

His introduction was met with silence, why were they looking at him like he’d just told the best joke they’d heard all day? He opened his mouth to question this when they started laughing. Laughing! Unbelievable!

"Ok- ok wait," They manage to quell their laughter enough to talk. "I take my introduction back it was lame, I wanna be Cazz. Professional cool guy, future president of being rad as he-EY!"

Having had enough of this dude, Jack took the opportunity to shove them off, only managing to send himself back a few steps before having to grab back onto the safety railing to avoid losing his balance again. He hated to admit he was starting to think their water suggestion might not be such a bad idea.

"Very funny. Congrats on buying a one way ticket to being vaporized as soon as I take over the world, now would you screw off already? I'm not buying that concern for my well being crap, if that was it you wouldn't be giving me this much of a headache." He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his unwanted company gone.

On opening them again, his frustration with things only grew. Cazz had not in any way screwed off, and instead stood frowning at him, head cocked to the side like a confused animal.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

Jack's eyes narrowed, some people really didn't know when to quit.

"Of course I'm serious, you're on the vaporization list, don't bother groveling to get out of it now." He paused, considering something. "Well, you could try a little groveling, I might be willing to reconsider."

They didn't laugh this time, but they did roll their eyes at him again, which wasn't as bad, but was still pretty bad in terms of things done to warrant future vaporization.

"Yeah, I'm not gonna do that." Their hand landed on their hip and they looked him over again, a bit more concern showing through their attempt at an unaffected expression this time. "I was gonna offer to grab you a t-shirt and a water bottle before you pass out and fall in the ocean and really do get sharked, but I guess if that's not acceptable royal treatment I can get out of your hairspray, Mr. future princess of darkness." With a shrug, they turned to leave.

Jack grumbled something even he didn't bother to decipher and pushed away from the rail, making it a few steps before sinking into the nearest deck chair,  wrapping his arms around his stomach and shutting his eyes as tightly as he could manage. He didn't need this. His stomach was doing back flips, his head was killing him, and he really didn't need this.

Time ticked by and he tried to focus on breathing, on anything but the movement of the boat and the thick weight of the air. It could've been just a few minutes, it could've been hours, he didn't know, but eventually Jack felt something press against one of his hands.

Blinking harshly against the sunlight, he made out the shape of a bottle of water, followed by the shape of the person holding it. Cazz looked down at him, water extended like an olive branch and eyebrow raised in a silent bet against him turning it down. He wanted to, wanted to tell them exactly where they could stick that stupid bottle. Instead he unscrewed the cap and chugged so aggressively that he forgot to breathe.

"Take it easy there princess ," Jack nearly choked, debating whether or not it would be worth the energy to threaten them again, instead he decided on flipping them off, which didn't seem to deter them from talking. "Slow down before you make yourself hurl again and start back at square one."

Distantly, Jack found himself wondering what the hell was wrong with this guy.

Chapter Text

Xiaolin Temple, China, Present day.

Jack picked at his breakfast, pushing a forkful of egg around his plate in what must’ve been its third rotation. Something about knowing the dish cleanup was going to fall on him really chipped away at his appetite. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone ever asked what he wanted to eat. What did these people have against dinosaur chicken nuggets anyway? Or regular chicken nuggets. Which adults ate. Which he ate because he was practically an adult. He looked up from his plate at the chattering conversation happening around him, wondering how easy it would be to just slip under the table and take off.
That thought didn’t even fully form before he noted Omi staring at him intensely from across the table. No wonder he felt like he was being watched, it was a side effect of constantly being watched. He slid his chair back a few inches and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hey, do you mind not staring me down like a zoo animal while I'm trying to eat? Or actually, at all?"
Omi most likely would have replied if not for the mouthful of rice porridge he was currently working on, instead, Raimundo was the first to take the chance to use his own words against him.

"I dunno dude, you did always seem a little too comfortable with the monkey staff, not really surprising for things to shake out that way."
This elicited a bout of laughter from everyone, except Jack, who grumbled something about them wishing they could use the monkey staff as well as he could, he'd show them.

"And that is precisely the point!" Omi, mouth now emptied of food and filled with talking, stood atop his chair and pointed an accusatory finger in Jack's direction. "You have not proven yourself trustworthy around any of the shen gong wu! And until you do I am honor bound to watch you like a bug in a microwave!"
Jack winced, the mental image of what a bout of microwaving would do to a bug officially obliterating whatever was left of his appetite.

"Please tell me you're not sick and twisted enough to not mean microscope..."

"That too!"

This was in no way reassuring. Jack slid his chair slightly further away from the kitchen's microwave, shifting uncomfortably.
"Alright alright, whatever, no wu allowed until you jerks realize I've got nowhere to go with it. Fine. Can I go start the stupid dishes already or can I not be trusted with those either?"

Never one to skip out on the art of missing the point, Omi did not hesitate to provide an answer for the blatantly rhetorical question.
"Well, you have broken several of our dishes, and I do not believe each time was an accident."

"Yeah? Well!" Jack floundered for a moment, the cheeseball had him there, at least half of those breaks had been on purpose. "Well maybe you should try having less breakable dishes!" Nice save. He had effectively rendered everyone speechless with his flawless logic and in no way said something stupid enough to result in total silence.

Omi finally opened his mouth to respond, but never had the chance to do so. Dojo slid jerkily into the door frame, the right side of his face twitching aggressively.

"Rind and shine goys and birls, we're on a fivetegory caterfive-. Cativegory fatergive...." He paused, shaking his head. "We're on a major shen gong wu alert, and it's either a real doozy or I'm having a stroke!" He paused, sniffing briefly at the air. "Any of you kids smell burnt toast?"

"Huh? Sorry," Everyone's attention was drawn across the room to where Clay stood over the toaster, freshly dark-browned bread held in his hand. "That'd be me, y'all know I like my toast on the crispy side."

A silent eyeroll passed through the room, before the general focus returned to the dragon currently trembling like a chihuahua. Shakily, he produced the scroll, unrolling it across the tabletop and narrowly missing the various plates of breakfast. Coming to light in the center was an image of…

"What's this one, a magic stop sign?" Jack's question went unanswered and ignored as the group continued watching the images of the octagonal shen gong wu dance across the page. A human form reaching to open it and stare awestruck at something unseen inside.

"The Tiandi Looking Glass..." Master Fung, having appeared in the doorway, gazed thoughtfully at the scroll. "A most powerful shen gong wu, it allows the user to look upon other worlds, a window through time and space. Were it to fall into the wrong hands-"

"Lemme guess," Raimundo cut in, standing from the table and taking the scroll in hand, "One thousand years of darkness? The end of the world as we know it?"

In place of any usual retort, Master Fung shook his head, placing a firm hand on the scroll as Raimundo held it up.
"I'm afraid not, young monk. The Tiandi Looking Glass' power is far greater than many of the shen gong wu you've seen before, and in the wrong hands it could lead to not only the end of our world, but the destruction of countless others as well."

This revelation settled heavily over the room. Multiple worlds through time and space hanging in the balance? These stakes were clearly more than those of an average Tuesday afternoon. If anything, these were full weekend stakes.

"Ooookay," Raimundo spoke first, slightly hesitant but ultimately undeterred. "Well guys, you heard the Fungster, no time to waste here let's get moving!"

As everyone stood in agreement, Dojo slumped apologetically, right eye still twitching.
"Sorry guys, I don't think fry- I dunno if file- if flying's the dest ibea right now.."

Kimiko crouched down, putting a sympathetic hand on the trembling dragons shoulder.
"Oh, it's alright Dojo, we have the Silver Manta Ray- you can ride along and point us in the right direction." He nodded, clinging thankfully to her shoulder as she scooped him up.

"Then let us not dilly our dallies!" Omi, nearly vibrating with impatience, began practically pushing everyone towards the door. Great, just what Jack needed today, to get dragged along to a showdown and paraded around in front of his former totally-equal-evil-associates as the new Xiaolin pet project. He grumbled to himself as he trudged towards the door, only to be stopped by a small arm barring across his chest.

"Jack Spicer," Omi began, stern condescension already shining through his tone. "You will stay here where Master Fung can keep an eye on you. This shen gong wu is too dangerous to risk dividing our attention to sit on you like a baby."

Jack raised an indignant finger to protest the notion of needing to be babysat, but lowered it as the rest of Omi's words sunk in.
"So you're... just leaving me here? Just like that?" Just him and grandpa quote generator? That would be the closest to freedom he'd experienced in weeks!

"Of course," Omi nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Master Fung and the rest of the temple elders can surely handle you, seeing as you are not very strong."

"Hey-"

"And you still have many chores to keep you occupied while we're away."
Never mind, forget freedom, this sucked actually. Jack's protests died in his throat as Omi waved an overly cheerful goodbye, and he turned to glare at the table of dishes he was now responsible for.

"Hey, Spicer!" Raimundo's head popped back into the room and Jack tensed, awaiting what would surely be either an insult or an additional chore hoisted on to him. "Forgot I had something for you, heads up!"

In the next second, Jack found himself fumbling to catch a small rectangular object that had been tossed towards him, nearly dropping it to the ground before managing a solid hold. He looked down in shock at what he now held, it was an mp3 player... His mp3 player. At some point pulled from his desk. Torn between gratitude for something familiar and offense that the monks had apparently, at some point, broken into his room, he lifted his head to say something, only to find Raimundo was already gone, and he was once again alone with his chores. Or, not quite alone. Now at least, doing chores would come with a soundtrack.